Christian poetry & essays about one woman's faith walk.

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That Friday

On that Friday, “Good Friday,”
With its message of the cross,
The horrific death of Jesus crucified upon it,
An innocent man, the Living God,
Who sacrificed Himself for everyone,
Forgiving all who ask for their sins that held Him there.
And still He offers the promise of being with Him in Heaven—
Even to go with us to the ends of the earth.

On that Friday, “Good Friday, ”
He stood in the gap between unpure humanity and the I Am,
While His mother and friends watched,
As Roman soldiers gambled for His garments,
When the thunder rolled and the lightening struck,
The temple veil torn in to, top to bottom,
And the darkest clouds covered Calvary—
Final words were spoken.

On that Friday, “Good Friday, ”
“It is finished” and Jesus’ Spirit departed,
Satan believed he had won,
God was gone and now he can reign free,
But immediately there’s a whisper of the full prophecy,
A breath of clean air through the stench of death,
Tick-tock on the clock and Satan trembles—
Sunday is coming, and nothing can hold back the tide.
dfav 3/22/16—Donna